


Don't Dream It's Over

by burn_it_slow



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Multi, does henry have to do everything himself i mean honestly, fumbling toward ot5, the trope where a kiss happens in contrived situation then feelings get caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_it_slow/pseuds/burn_it_slow
Summary: Henry needs to make a gesture of atonement, and he will. But he doesn’t necessarily have to mean it, deep down. He’s no Ronan Lynch.He’s not actually sorry for kissing Ronan Lynch.





	Don't Dream It's Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spikenard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikenard/gifts).



It can’t possibly be the last weekend of July already.

Henry can remember quite clearly when this whole summer was still all stretched out before them, an endless expanse that he and his friends would use to reclaim their stolen youth, to stop marking their days in trauma. They have a score to settle with destiny.

Now summer’s almost over, though, and he can practically taste the melancholy blowing in, despite their increasingly frantic attempts to squeeze these months dry of every last drop of time spent together.

Adam is due at Harvard for new student orientation in a couple of weeks, and then South America is happening in three weeks. Which means it won’t be like this -- the five of them, clinging jealously to each other and _only_ each other -- for much longer.

Henry’s trying to pay attention to his current surroundings and enjoy this last quick D.C. trip with everyone, but his stomach’s sour with guilt, which makes it difficult to maintain eye contact with the giant salt-slathered pretzel he impulse-bought from a roving stadium vendor. He mostly did it so he’d have something to share with Blue, and to Instagram the clever design: it’s shaped like the Washington Nationals logo.

He doesn’t really have the appetite for junk food, now that he pinches it in its greasy wax paper shell. He doesn’t have the appetite for anything right now.

He knows perfectly well what the problem is. The problem right now is Ronan Lynch.

So many times he knows those words have been true on various occasions, for an exhausting variety of reasons. But this time it’s not something he can joust with Ronan about. This time it’s something entirely more dangerous. He’s not supposed to be so annoyingly _aware_ of Ronan like he has been lately.

Right now Ronan’s wearing the baseball cap he bought in the team store earlier -- they all know it’s for Adam, eventually, but Ronan of course is going to pretend for a while like it’s not, like he’s just that irritated by the afternoon sun -- and Henry can’t stop _noticing_ him like that.

Something about it reminds Henry of a slightly younger Ronan, cocky and carefree and always first to laugh. But _this_ Ronan, the one Henry knows now, is sharper, more measuring, more smoothly settled into his tall frame, and quite honestly so sexy Henry keeps pressing his teeth together and counting the number of seats in the row or mentally reevaluating his South America packing list.

This unsolicited spike of desire feels especially bewildering when he looks over now and realizes that Ronan’s attempting to peel away sunburned skin from Adam’s forearm and elbow, where Adam recently managed to burn on top of his ever-present tan. None of them ever pays attention to Henry’s skin care advisories.

Adam keeps uttering squeaks of complaint when Ronan snags a pale arm hair or two in the process, smacking Ronan away and hissing at him to quit it. The whole scene is utterly gross, and Henry genuinely does not understand why he’s not more put off by it.

Henry sighs quietly and inches closer to Blue. She tugs at his sunglasses, lowering them just enough to look him in the eye. Her gaze is inquisitive, checking in without saying anything. He wonders if she’s already picking up on his preoccupation with Ronan.

It wouldn’t surprise him, if she knew. He’s talked to her about this.

Well, maybe not about this specific crush thing he’s nursing for Ronan lately. But she and Henry and Gansey had been talking about something like this just last weekend, shouting over the familiar roar of the Pig. He’d been trying and failing to put words to this shifting and formless ache that surfaces when he thinks about how they’ve so neatly managed to split themselves off from Adam and Ronan.

Everything is approached separately, now. The hotel they’re staying in, for example, is split into the Gansey-Blue-Henry room and the Adam-Ronan room. This is how their sleeping arrangements work now. This is how everything works now, on the surface. When Henry invites Adam somewhere, Adam checks with Ronan first. They’re a package deal, just like Henry and Blue and Gansey. It makes sense, but Henry still resents it. He also suspects it’s eating at Gansey in a similar way, which is rather worse to handle.

Henry wants _more_. He wants them all to drop the pretense that it isn’t _more_ already.

It’s not greed, really. He doesn’t need to waste his time questioning his own worth, like the others constantly do. But he still doesn’t know what to do with the restlessness of _wanting_. He doesn’t buy into this whole brooding insomnia business. He relies on his solid eight hours a night.

Henry pushes his Ray-Bans back up the bridge of his nose.

He’s startled, though, when an elbow digs into his side. Ronan’s trying to get his attention.

The familiar spark of mischief in Ronan’s lit-up eyes grabs Henry’s attention in a rush. Henry knows he’s an easy mark for Ronan’s shenanigans, and he could roll his eyes just like the others do, but he decides he’ll takes his kicks where he can get them.

Ronan’s eyebrows are waggling from beneath the brim of his Nationals hat, and he’s nodding at the beer vendor who’s leaning on the railing in front of the seats, deftly displaying three types of canned beer at once to the crowd all around her as she bellows out the brand names.

“You haven’t tried it yet,” Ronan nudges his knuckles into Henry’s hip, and Henry’s eyes widen before he realizes Ronan’s trying to go for his wallet. The new and improved dreamed-up fake ID. “Have you? Man, come on.”

Henry has certainly noticed people passing their driver’s licenses down the line along with cash to purchase beer in the stands like this. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that Ronan noticed it, too.

They’ll all be so annoyed if Henry does this.

Ronan’s fingers snake into the edge of Henry’s pocket and tug insistently.

“I get to pick the beer,” Henry whispers. Ronan gives him an impatient shrug.

Henry puts on his easiest, most languorous smile and flashes two fingers at the vendor. Blue and Adam both turn to him with the same tired, put-upon look, but Ronan’s knee is bouncing next to his, and he’s going for it.

The ID gets scrutinized, and for a moment Henry’s heart thuds wildly. But then he’s specifying that he wants the grapefruit shandy, and Ronan is groaning, but not enough to lose the self-satisfied smirk, a secret look just for the two of them. Henry passes over a tall, thin, pastel peach can that admittedly looks a little ridiculous in Ronan’s grasp. He could almost wrap his fingers around it twice.

“You two,” Blue shakes her head, rubbing her cheek against Henry’s shoulder. He offers her a sip, but she makes a face and tears off more of the pretzel he bestowed upon her.

He can hear a trace of chastisement in her voice, but it’s drowned out by affection.

Henry wants to preserve this moment, to protect it from the inevitable phase of emotional withdrawal that will follow. Ronan’s silent detachments are more and more frequent, now. Henry is more than okay with being his partner in crime if it means he’s present again for a little while. Ronan’s an asshole, sure, but he’s _their_ asshole, and nothing’s the same without his crackling energy. He’s a ley line all his own, and they’re learning how to revel in it and dance through its flames without getting burned.

 

* * *

 

Henry’s really not a baseball person.

The sport itself is entirely too slow-moving to keep Henry’s attention, but he’s content to be there anyway, anchoring all five of them from the middle where he likes to be.

Sometimes they blast decent music, too, even if it’s only for 30 seconds at a time.

There’s something to be said for the grand American spectacle of it all, Henry supposes. He can feel the way Gansey wants them to commit to it, to go hard at the experience of Baseball Game and check it off on their list of adventures to be had. They’re here as a result of Gansey’s schmoozing with Declan, whose investment capital group keeps season tickets for when VIP types are in town.

Matthew’s been wanting an excuse to babysit Opal, anyway. He’ll probably keep her up half the night carrying her around the condo and teaching her knock-knock jokes and feeding her his old Duplo blocks. Best not to dwell on this.

Henry’s tolerating it a bit better now that he’s added day drinking to the situation, but his brightened mood is quickly challenged by jumbotron antics.

After every inning there’s some inane entertainment, cheesy dance moves and mascot races, so he really should’ve been expecting the stupid Kiss-Cam thing.

Whoever’s controlling the camera moves a giant heart-shaped frame around and settles it on unsuspecting couples in the audience, who are then supposed to kiss for the entertainment of the masses. It is some extremely weird heterosexual creepiness and Henry takes his sunglasses off to exchange irritated looks with Blue.

“What _is_ this,” Blue scrunches up the corner of her mouth in distaste, gaze fixed on the huge screen over the outfield.

“It’s part of the experience,” Gansey gestures with wide-splayed fingers, and Blue rolls her eyes.

“If you say so. I think it’s kind of -- oh my God, Henry!”

Henry looks where she’s pointing, and there he is, several stories high, centered inside the frankly tacky looking jumbotron heart with -- of course -- with Blue Sargent, the only female member of his squad at the moment.

Their hesitation apparently has the camera rapt. Henry takes a moment to tilt his head left to right, checking the natural movement of his hair on screen. It’s staying pretty firmly in its shape even in with an occasional breeze, but it doesn’t look like he cemented it in place with too much Aveda. It’s perfect, really.

Henry is controlling the attention of everyone in this stadium. It is a rush. He turns to Blue and gives her a wink, then turns to his left with a dramatic swoop, and reaches for Ronan instead.

He can hear the gasps and chatter of the crowd, and he can just barely tell from the corner of his eye that the Kiss-Cam Heart is trailing hesitantly over, perhaps willing to indulge Henry but only to a point.

Ronan had been snickering into his fist, leaning away, but now his eyes pop open wide, his eyebrows lifting in disbelief, bordering on outrage. Henry clamps his fingers onto the brim of Ronan’s cap, turns it around backwards, and kisses Ronan dramatically on the lips.

The crowd roars. Henry can’t tell if the laughter is mostly delight or awkward panic, but he chooses the former.

Ronan’s frozen so completely still that it’s not entirely clear if he’s still breathing. Henry gives Ronan’s bicep a squeeze, which he’s not honestly sure if he means as encouragement or apology or both, but is fun either way.

He knows he’s overstepped, here, but literally thousands of people are watching, so he’s certainly not backing down now. He pauses, one palm at the side of Ronan’s neck and the other rubbing at his shoulder. He lets his mouth hover so close that no one else should be able to see they’re not actually making contact, and he gives it a second.

The tip of Ronan’s tongue dashes out between his lips. Henry takes this as a sign, and closes his eyes this time as their mouths press together again.

Ronan kisses him back.

Henry can barely keep his shoulders still; he’s breaking into a little shiver. Ronan’s not touching him anywhere else, still mostly motionless, but his kiss feels strangely vulnerable and sincere, given the context. It’s a very intense few seconds, and Henry has no sense of whether the crowd is reacting or if anyone’s even watching anymore.

If Ronan were into this just to give a symbolic middle finger to straight people in the greater metropolitan area, wouldn’t he be a little more ... performative about it?

When Henry comes to his senses and pulls away just enough to break their kiss, he realizes that the jumbotron has indeed already moved on.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Ronan mutters, knocking the back of his hand against Henry’s shoulder. He’s blushing so visibly that Henry can’t help a nervous little laugh from bubbling up, which makes Ronan glower even more and spin his hat back around so he can jam the bill down over his reddening face.

Henry’s gaze shifts to Adam, partly because he can see the way Ronan grabs Adam’s hand and clings it so tightly his knuckles are white. Adam’s watching Henry right back with a slightly cocked eyebrow.

Henry puts his sunglasses back on.

“You’re gonna give him a heart attack,” Blue hisses, wrapping her arms around one of Henry’s and tugging him back toward her. “Are you trying to go viral on YouTube or something? Again?”

“Why? Did you notice anyone recording it?” Henry looks around with sudden interest at the fans around them, trying to see if any phones are pointed his way. He checks his hair again. His hand is trembling.

“Henry, oh my God.”

The people around them are still turning around to grin at him, or just to stare quite shamelessly. He’s a minor celebrity in this section of box seats. He forces his neck and shoulders to relax, gazing up and around at the crowd, smiling when he catches the occasional gaze. He has to do this, or else it’ll be humiliatingly obvious how much that kiss has just turned him completely inside out.

As he’s maintaining a cool exterior, the only thing that gives him pause is when he looks over Blue’s head and sees Gansey watching him with wide eyes and crinkled eyebrows. The wistfulness robs Henry of breath.

He already knows that Gansey’s going to clutch at his elbow and tug him aside, at some point very soon, and whisper, with that same stare: _what was it like?_

 

* * *

 

The rest of the baseball game is uneventful in comparison, aside from the fact that Ronan sits on the other side of Adam when he comes back from another of his restless wanderings. They take the subway back to the Smithsonian stop and spend some time wandering the Mall, which is undergoing some unsightly construction. Ronan is permanently fastened to Adam’s side, or sometimes trails off on his own completely, avoiding everyone. Blue frowns at Henry whenever this happens; the blame is squarely applied, and Henry doesn’t contest it.

Adam’s wearing the damn hat now, and Ronan won’t look at Henry at all.

Henry tries very valiantly to not let this poison his ego, but the rejection burns nonetheless. He knows he didn’t imagine the way Ronan kissed him back, even for those few intense seconds. And yet the way Ronan is acting now, like -- like they’re nothing to each other, like _strangers_ \-- it’s straight-up insulting.

Henry’s always the one Ronan comes to with his stupid ideas now. Adam’s too smart to get caught up in it very often and too busy planning out every detail of his fall semester; Blue is occasionally willing but tends to be a stickler for things like _legality_. Gansey washes his hands of all of it, of course.

So that leaves Henry to assist Ronan with the specifics on fake IDs, or to navigate to illegal roadside firework stands off 64, or to help all the air coincidentally escape from the Headmaster’s tires. They have a serious history of adventure, now, whether or not it means shit to Ronan.

Maybe Henry did push things a little too far today, but he’s not _wrong_ , and he’s not going to pretend he is just so Ronan will quit sulking. He has his pride, after all.

After they’ve done the obligatory walk from the Washington to the Lincoln, they begin to gather at the top of the steps, waiting for Adam; he’s using Ronan’s phone to take photos of all the quotes on every marble surface, as if the words need to be re-preserved or something. Gansey’s geeking out about it, pointing out more words for Adam to document, and Henry finds himself assembled with Blue and Ronan.

Naturally, Blue takes in the situation for about two seconds and darts away, abandoning Henry to deal with his own social disaster. He’s sure she’ll say later that she thought they could use a private moment, they need to work this out, et cetera, but right now he’s glaring daggers into the back of her head as she cuddles up to Gansey.

Ronan’s still standing there. Henry expects him to bolt any second, as soon as he realizes they’re alone again, but instead Ronan shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Henry a challenging stare, running his tongue over his teeth in a way that Henry really does not need right now.

“Ronan, listen--”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, yes, God forbid we try to talk anything through like rational adults, right? I’d need an actual grownup to converse with for that.”

“Right, you’re the mature one. Fucking around with me for laughs,” Ronan says as he takes a step backward, and another, and another, then spins on the heel of his boot and stomps off toward the others.

Henry’s cheeks burn. He slides his phone from his pocket and scans methodically through his various notifications, allowing himself some comfort in the ritual of it. RoboBee points out a rooftop restaurant above the Kennedy Center that’s likely a tourist trap.

He looks at the map on his screen but doesn’t really see it. He’s too busy considering whether he’s now personally wrecked what remains of their precious summer.

 

* * *

 

It’s a little past ten when Henry’s phone buzzes on the hotel room nightstand, interrupting the old black-and-white Twilight Zone episode he and Blue have gotten overly invested in. Blue pouts a little when Henry has to gently dislodge her from his lap so he can see who’s calling.

It’s not a number he recognizes; seems to be a D.C. area code. RoboBee informs him, though, that it’s the outgoing phone number of this very hotel.

“Henry Cheng speaking.”

He keeps his voice down as much as he can; Gansey’s passed out in the next bed and snoring softly. Gansey falling asleep is not a thing that happens this naturally, usually, so he and Blue tend to whisper around him in these rare occasions.

“Hey. Henry, it’s, uh. It’s Adam.”

Henry pauses, so he can connect the dots: Adam must be calling from their room phone. Adam does not own a cell phone, and Ronan’s cell phone is quite likely on the floor of the BMW, or perhaps submerged in a public toilet somewhere.

This has to be a serious matter if Adam’s willing to tack a long-distance charge onto his incidentals.

Henry has been sitting there quietly for too long, because then he hears Adam clarify: “Adam Parrish?”

“Oh, _that_ Adam,” Henry smirks reassuringly over at Blue, whose eyebrows have launched up into her bangs. “What’s up?”

“Henry, listen, do you you, like … have a minute? Can you come next door? I think we need to talk.”

“I suppose I … sure, of course. I’ll be right over.”

“What,” Blue holds out her palm for RoboBee to tap-crawl over, “was that all about?”

“I have finally been called to the principal’s office.”

“I’m kind of surprised it’s taken this long. Is Adam going to challenge you to a duel, or something? You want me to run down to the ice machine for you? In case you come back with a black eye?”

“Stop,” Henry whines, resting his forehead in the warmth of her neck and shoulder. “He sounded all serious. I think he’s mad.”

“You kissed his boyfriend,” Blue says, her tone very stern despite the gentle way she cradles Henry’s head, careful and affectionate. He inches closer; maybe he can just disappear there forever.

“It was supposed to be a joke.”

“Was it, though?”

Henry sighs deeply, filling his lungs with Blue to lend him some of her strength. He kisses her cheek and her eyebrow, and then he gets up and embarks on the slow trudge to their friends’ adjoining room. It feels more appropriate to go through the hallway and knock on their front door, as opposed to the adjoined door, in order to show proper remorse. It feels more respectful.

Henry needs to make a gesture of atonement, and he will. But he doesn’t necessarily have to mean it, deep down. He’s no Ronan Lynch.

He’s not actually sorry for kissing Ronan Lynch.

Adam opens the door as if Henry is there to conduct a tax audit, or a property inspection. It’s all business, then. Henry can work with that. He’s ready to get this over with.

It seems like Adam is alone, now that Henry is ushered far enough inside to glance around nervously. RoboBee is still back there with Blue and can’t scout ahead for him. It’s not a good feeling. He wants to know what he’s getting into, here; he doesn’t like going into things blind. And the absence of Ronan is a giant and bewildering question mark. He wants to see Ronan’s face and determine whether he’s been remembering things wrong.

“Hi. Thanks for, um. Coming over,” Adam leans against the door to close it, and Henry stands awkwardly near the corner of a king-sized bed.

“Of course,” Henry says.

He needs to get this over with. Adam’s scientist expression is difficult to interpret, and Henry doesn’t totally appreciate being scrutinized like a slide under Adam’s microscope.

“I just wanted to--” Adam begins, at the same time that Henry bursts out with the start of his apology. It’s even more awkward now, with them both gesturing for the other to continue. Henry finally takes a breath and goes for it again.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it,” Henry says, determined to get it out this time. He has his pride, after all; he doesn’t need to be apologizing over and over. Ronan’s not even _here_ , the stubborn rogue. Is he going to have to serve up this apology twice? Three times? Four? He doesn’t know the rules here. He’s often making them up with Blue and Gansey as they go along.

“It’s okay,” Adam presses his lips together, almost ruefully, and then he’s smiling, which makes Henry feel annoyingly off balance. He catches himself reaching a hand out, to gauge where the edge of the bed is. Just in case he falls on his ass.

“It’s okay?” Henry repeats, folding his arms. He does it carefully, so the folds in his shirt cuffs don’t get too wrinkled. He’s employed a classic fold he learned from _Esquire_ that makes a surprising difference to the neatness of the cuff, and yet no one ever appreciates it or likely even _notices_ that he doesn’t just roll up his sleeves like some ruffian. Like Ronan Lynch.

“I mean it’s not … okay, in the sense of, like … no big deal, it is a … a deal of some kind, not a small one, but … God. God, okay, look,” Adam holds his forehead in his palm, providing a momentary break from the confusing and awkward things he is saying. He walks over closer to Henry and plants himself down on the edge of the bed. “Ronan and I have been talking. He feels really guilty.”

“Oh. Well, it’s my fault, not his. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Henry frowns down at Adam. “You know that, right? It was all me.”

“Mm,” Adam actually smiles again, or at least with half of his face. Henry’s always kind of admired the way Adam can pull that off, always wondered if he’s even trying. “That’s not what he says, exactly.”

“He really is too honest for his own good sometimes.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. He told me he definitely kissed you back, and he liked it,” Adam says tentatively as he watches Henry for some kind of reaction. It’s a bit of a draw. “He’s been agonizing about it ever since. You can see that, right?”

Henry’s first instinct is to draw himself inward, slightly, to defend himself against these attacks. He’s not sure it feels like an attack, though. Adam’s looking at him in a way that says _I know you’ve been watching him_ , but there doesn’t seem to be any fire to his approach. It’s almost … his eyes are almost glinting. They way he looks sometimes when he gets out of the passenger seat of Ronan’s car.

“If he was turned on by anything, it was obviously my protest of the heterosexual agenda.”

“I’m sure that was a fun byproduct, yeah. But that’s not what’s eating at him, and I think you probably know that.”

“What can I do to make this right,” Henry asks after a moment of consideration, navigating gingerly toward whatever is giving Adam’s expression that electric charge of excitement.

“Well, that’s kind of why I asked you to come over here. Ronan’s got it in his head that the only way he’ll stop feeling guilty is if, um …is if our transgressions balance out. If I get to kiss you too.”

Henry’s skin prickles with awareness of something like an oncoming thunderstorm. He wishes he’d brought RoboBee. He knows he can’t always rely on RoboBee to advise him in treacherous situations, but it doesn’t keep him from fervently wishing he could.

RoboBee’s not much help with emotions. Henry’s going to have to find his way off this battlefield all on his own.

“Are you pranking me right now? Because it’s not your best. It is _far_ from Ronan’s best.”

“It’s not a joke. He wouldn’t joke about shit like this,” Adam sighs, and Henry knows it’s true.

“So you’re just … on board, then, Adam? You think this is a good idea, too? You think this is an acceptable way to think of me? Like … like I’m the talking stick you pass around at group therapy? Has it occurred to you that I’d actually like to have a say in whom I do or do not kiss, and when, and why?”

Adam looks down at the ugly paisley-print carpet and winces slightly, slumping forward to rest his hands on his knees. His jeans are very worn out in the natural way and not the three-hundred-dollar pre-distressed way.

“I’m sorry,” Adam’s gaze lifts to him again, and Henry softens a little. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just … Ronan would’ve liked to have a say, too, you know, in the whole kissing department. You kind of sprung it on him.”

“Where is he,” Henry slides his fingertips into the pockets of his shorts, his knuckles pressing against the seams. “Are you the spokesperson here?”

“Do you honestly think _Ronan_ would be?”

“I understand if he’s not inclined to work this out verbally, but I’d like to know he didn’t just leave you alone here so we could enact his weird romantic karma theory.”

“All right, you know what? Come with me.”

Adam nods toward the bathroom door, in the back corner of the room. The unpleasant fluorescent light over the sink shows one smudged, reused Ziploc bag containing a sample sized toothpaste tube and black plastic comb and drugstore brand deodorant. On the other side of the counter, a supple leather case has erupted with bottles of body wash and mouthwash, two small lighters, a few silver coins, and what looks to be a segment of bicycle chain. Henry doesn’t ask.

Ronan’s not hiding, exactly; the light’s on and the door is wide open. But he’s been sitting in here this whole time in complete silence. Henry’s not sure whether he’s more annoyed or worried when he sees the way Ronan’s perched on the side of the tub, gnawing his way through several of his leather bands and bouncing his foot inside his boot. He looks like he’ll jump out of his skin any second.

He’s heard everything, obviously. There’s no need to catch him up on this soap opera of a conversation.

“He’s not going for your idea, Lynch,” Adam stops a little further away from Ronan than Henry would’ve expected. It’s not hard to pick up on their caustic vibe.

Ronan reacts by folding his arms and glaring straight at Henry, raising his eyebrow toward Adam and then glowering again as if to say _I gave you once-in-a-lifetime permission to kiss Adam Parrish, you fucking idiot_. He might well have a very good point here, but Henry shrugs and challenges himself not to break eye contact just because Ronan gets off on the intimidation thing.

Staring at Ronan right now is maybe not the smartest move, though, because Henry can still remember the exact millisecond when the movement of Ronan’s mouth went from shock-frozen to _okay you know what fuck it_. The effect is Henry’s gaze dropping to Ronan’s lips again, to linger over the memory of it, and also Ronan jumping up and stalking out into the other room, blushing madly.

“God. We need to talk about this,” Adam tugs at the roots of his hair near his temple.

“Okay, but …” Henry trails off, then looks toward the door, attempting to politely and subtly point out that they can sit here and talk until the sun burns itself out but it’s not going to make Ronan quit spinning out of orbit.

“He thinks it counts as cheating on me,” Adam continues, making no attempt to keep his voice down. It’s not a secret, Henry supposes. “Did you mean to make him feel like that? When you kissed him?”

“Dude, _no_ ,” Henry bursts out. “I am sorry. It was supposed to be a joke! For the camera. You get that, don’t you? I was working the moment.”

“I got it. But I think maybe it backfired on you a little. Now my boyfriend’s all freaked out and angry at himself, and his Catholic ass is wracked with guilt, I mean … what am I supposed to do about this? Do you have any input here? Or are you just gonna watch him melt down?”

“I believe we need to figure this out together. Only way out is through.”

Henry lifts his chin toward the door, and Adam follows him.

Ronan’s been pacing around and Henry catches his gaze snapping toward the door, and then the window, plotting escape routes. He doesn’t react well to being cornered. Henry stays back at a polite distance as Adam goes over and keeps him still, clutching at his upper arms and establishing some fierce eye contact.

Ronan’s still high-strung and antsy, but he’s contained. This is Henry’s cue to figure out their way forward.

“Ronan. I’m sorry,” Henry takes three cautious steps, going slowly for his own sake as well as that of the general peace. He’s trying to shove down the recurring waves of attraction so he can get through this apology. The compulsion to press Ronan flat against the wall and kiss him until he forces out whatever dragon needs fighting here is very difficult to resist. Tiptoeing around a crisis is both a waste of time and an underestimation of a person’s spirit. Especially if that person is Ronan Lynch.

Adam’s still rubbing his hands over Ronan’s elbows, but he shoots Henry a significant glance now, expectant and prompting, and Henry realizes he’s dropped the apology thread after all.

“I shouldn’t have done that without asking your permission first,” Henry says. “I got very caught up in the moment. I apologize.”

“Whatever,” Ronan rolls his eyes.

“Ronan,” Adam says instantly. Automatically.

“You could’ve asked Blue and Gansey for fucking _permission_ ,” Ronan’s lips form a scowl around the hissing syllables of the word.

“Okay, that is … not what we’re talking about right now. They don’t need you to get angry on their behalf. That’s between me and them. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re really angry about right now.”

“I have a boyfriend!” Ronan’s eyes light up with something dreadful. Fear, maybe. Henry’s not sure he can read it. He wishes he could.

“You certainly do.” Henry still wants to nudge at this wildness in Ronan, to call it out and let Ronan defeat it.

He compromises. He runs a thumb over Ronan’s cheekbone, following a jagged semi-circle down to his lightly stubbled chin. He remembers the kiss so well now he can feel it happening, can feel his lips trembling with the near-contact, that moment when Ronan had chosen to kiss him back.

Henry’s getting carried away again. He pulls his hand back; Ronan’s watching him with very singular attention and Adam has let go of Ronan’s arms, letting his hand drop so his fingertips trail ever so slightly over Ronan’s. It’s a thing they do sometimes when they think they’re being subtle.

They form a small triangle, standing between the bed and the dresser, close enough for all of them to touch. Their reflections in the mirror are tense and cautious.

There’s such a dizzying charge of possibility in this room tonight. He’s feeling it again, the kick that made him light this match in the first place. Why didn’t he do this weeks ago? The inevitability of it makes Henry feel like he’s vibrating very fast, maybe too high a frequency for even RoboBee to pick up on.

Ronan’s staring down at the floor, but Adam’s staring at Henry. Something’s changed in Adam’s expression, something less of a puzzle. Or maybe Henry’s just managed to crack the password.

“What do you need me to do, Lynch?” Henry speaks up again. “To fix this?”

“You turned it down already.” Ronan glances between Henry and Adam. “I’m not going to force it. I wouldn’t do that.”

The accusation is clear; Henry fidgets with the clasp on his Cartier. He hasn’t come this far just to back down.

“Is it really going to make you feel better if I kiss your boyfriend like I kissed you?”

“Would we even be standing here talking about it if I didn’t think it would?” Ronan breaks away from Adam’s hand and folds his arms, shielding himself. “You know I don’t fucking lie. Do you really think I would suggest a big emotional talk about this instead? Like does that really fucking sound like me?”

“Adam?” Henry sighs.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about kissing Adam before. Ronan always makes it seem like it’s pretty all-consuming, so.

Adam shrugs with just his left shoulder, slow and coy. Henry would swear Adam’s flirting a little, if it weren’t for his boyfriend standing right there.

Henry draws Adam a little closer, a carefully nudging finger at Adam’s jawline. He can already imagine Ronan protesting, like … _I didn’t say you could fucking caress his cheek_ , so he limits himself to the practical and simply puts Adam’s face where he wants it.

Even right then, up until the last possible second, he half expects Adam to change his mind and pull away, or for Ronan to make some kind of scene. But Adam is the one who closes that last inch of distance, his eyes closing and his hands hanging neutral at his sides.

It’s a nice kiss, if a bit forced and polite-feeling. Adam’s lips are dry but firm, and they kiss for precisely four seconds. Henry can almost hear Adam keeping time, stopping very suddenly and pulling away with a sharp intake of breath, for no other obvious reason than they’ve now officially kissed for the exact same amount of time for which Henry and Ronan kissed. Clearly this was part of an earlier conversation to which Henry himself was not privy.

Adam’s eyes open quite slowly, and he looks at Henry’s fingertips until Henry drops them from Adam’s chin.

Adam’s rapid breathing is the only thing keeping Henry from feeling too insulted here. Henry finds himself willing to argue for more time to be put on the clock, so he can apply himself more fully, but Adam’s staring demandingly at Ronan and this is clearly about something going on with them. Henry’s not a part of this silent conversation.

His chest hurts.

Why did he come over here in the first place?

“Well,” Henry finds his voice again. “If you’re both done with this little experiment?”

“Did that fix it?” Adam ignores Henry and addresses Ronan, his eyes and voice cutting with the same blade. “Did that make you feel better? Are we _even_ now?”

Henry tries to take a step back from them, to let them measure out their own drama, but he’s stopped by a hand at his wrist. Ronan squeezes in a way that communicates what he can’t or won’t say out loud. Henry’s breath catches.

“I didn’t want to cause a fight,” Henry lets himself be led back, very gradually. “I’m sorry, Ronan. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t be,” Ronan shakes his head once, a quick motion, looking miserable as he studies the face of Henry’s watch.

Henry feels like he’s balancing across a chasm, one foot on either side. Ronan’s touch anchors him to where he’s going, but it’s a long way down.

“Ronan told me he almost kissed you a couple of times before,” Adam’s voice is softer now; Henry glances up at him and sees his expression turn thoughtful again. “Way back in, like … freshman year, even.”

“I thought you didn’t lie,” Henry rotates his hand a quarter turn and eases it back, just enough so his palm slides against Ronan’s. He sees Ronan’s throat muscles working erratically, and he looks over at Adam. “He was always such a dick to me.”

“Yeah, that’s …” Adam trails off and lifts his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Henry says, his lips retaining the small circle shape for an eternity after the syllable leaves them. He’s holding Ronan’s hand after kissing Ronan’s boyfriend. He wonders when he’s going to get called out on those items in particular.

“What are we going to do about this,” Adam wrings his hands, shifting so he’s leaning more toward his right. “Ronan. What was the point of having me do this if it’s not making you feel any--”

“Did you like it?” Ronan lets go of Henry’s hand much too abruptly; Henry is suddenly adrift.

“I, um,” Adam stammers, looking down at the carpet, his tanned cheeks turning that same muddy-red sunburned color as his forearms and elbows. “Yes.”

Henry’s eyebrow is soaring in surprise at this, but no one appreciates it.

“Then _that_. That’s the point. I don’t do shit without you,” Ronan says, shrugging now like he’s been the cool and collected one all this time, like he can just pretend to be smoothly unaffected.

“Ronan. Are you … Jesus. You can’t just -- we need to talk more about this, it’s complicated--”

“Is it?” Henry cuts in, and Adam turns wide eyes on him.

“What is it like,” Adam demands. “You and … and Blue, and Gansey, is it … I mean y’all seem so … happy.”

“We are,” Henry speaks too quickly to keep the note of defensiveness from his voice. “I _am_ happy. Except when I wish I could kiss _you_ , too, without it being this whole _thing_. We already have the rest of it. You do understand that, right? All of us. The kissing is just … look, I know I should not have pushed it today, but I was -- I am impatient. Summer will be over soon. Please just put Gansey out of his misery already.”

“God. Okay, maybe I, um. Maybe I’ve been overthinking this,” Adam looks searchingly at Ronan, who stares back at him for a good long while. Henry can practically feel them pushing this intense but wordless exchange back and forth, questioning and acknowledging and confirming.

Finally Adam lets out an audible breath and nods to whatever question Ronan’s been silently asking. He doesn’t look resigned, though; he looks … alert. Ready.

“Cheng,” Ronan startles him by saying his name so clearly and decisively. “You’re serious? You aren’t just fucking around? It wasn’t just a joke. Say it.”

“All right, fine. It wasn’t just a joke,” Henry says, gritting his teeth; the way Ronan’s looking at him makes an embarrassing sweat break out at the nape of his neck, and just beneath the steel band of his watch.

“Tell me what it was, then.”

“It was … it was an _excuse_. I am not just _fucking around_. Don’t you think I know you better than that by now? I know wouldn’t have kissed me back like that without the _feelings_ , Lynch, I know you have them! But you just -- you pretend you don’t, and then you ignore me all night?”

Henry has to stop and catch his breath; he didn’t mean to keep that particular faucet open so long, not when he’s always exerting such effort to keep it turned off and hidden safely away from these two.

Ronan isn’t really reacting, which is infuriating.

Ronan looks levelly over at Adam again, a final check-in. Then Ronan reaches over and kisses Henry like he’s going to devour him.

It presses a reset button somewhere in Henry’s body, everything just -- it blinks out for a second.

When he sputters and cranks back up to awareness again he realizes he’s made a mortifyingly thirsty sound and he’s leaning into the kiss so hard Ronan has to catch him. Ronan tucks his fingers possessively into Henry’s back pockets and keeps him close.

They kiss until Henry can barely breathe. Ronan’s so tall, and it’s quite different having his neck craned up like this. He needs Ronan to sit down.

He needs to talk to Gansey and Blue. He wishes they weren’t in a separate room right now.

“What did you do with the hat,” Henry forces his brain into sentences, stringing the words together like beads. “You looked so cute in that hat.”

“Shut up,” Ronan says, grumbling and shaking his head. He’s all flustered and glassy-eyed and fumbling around for Adam’s hand with one of his own.

Henry kisses him again like that, while they’re all linked together. Maybe Adam will feel it in the way Ronan’s squeezing at his fingers.

“I need to talk to Gansey and Blue,” he gasps when he comes to his senses again, his fingers twisted up in Ronan’s t-shirt.

“Before, when you said -- you said _Gansey_ ,” Ronan’s voice breaks awkwardly on the name. “Did you mean, like … does he want ... ”

“Yes. That is how I meant it.”

“Well then go fucking … _talk_ ,” Ronan demands, like he’s not still keeping Henry captive, like his lips are not currently plotting the most scenic route from Henry’s collarbone to his earlobe.

“Ronan,” Adam’s laughing, tugging at Ronan’s shoulders.

Henry has to let go, too, he realizes. He pries his fingers away from the hem of Ronan’s shirt and takes a deliberate step back.

“Why don’t you just …” Adam’s trying to catch Henry’s eye. He nods toward the adjoining door, on the far side of the television.

“Right,” Henry says, pressing a palm against his own chest to try and catch his breath.

Ronan lets him go this time. Ronan leans back against Adam, head on Adam’s shoulder, watching Henry steadily from beneath his lowered lashes. For a good long minute Henry completely forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Then he gets a hold of himself and knocks softly but rapidly on the thin door between their rooms.

Blue’s chipped orange nail polish is visible as she slides the lock and admits Henry, peeking nosily behind him into Adam and Ronan’s room. They leave the door open a few inches, but Henry pulls her into their own room with him; he needs her right now.

“You okay?” Blue whispers. “You’re not, like … bleeding, or anything? You didn’t get punched? Are they fighting?”

“No,” Henry presses his lips together, considering.

“Henry,” Gansey’s sleepy voice is a surprise. “Where’ve you _been_?”

“He woke up when you left,” Blue leads Henry over to the bed and sits cross-legged by Gansey; it’s clear that she’s been there a little while. “He was having that Cabeswater dream again.”

“Hi,” Henry sits on Gansey’s other side and leans down to kiss him, gentle and adoring. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“You smell like Ronan,” Gansey mumbles, clutching at him and sitting up to look him in the eye. “Why do you smell like Ronan?”

“Because it’s _happening_ , Ganseyman. It. Is. Happening. I kissed him and I think he wants to kiss me again and he _definitely_ wants to kiss you.”

“Henry,” Gansey smiles sadly. “You know he’s in love with Adam.”

“I know, yes, but -- but he wants more than that, I can feel it, just like you do. Both of them, all of us, it’s _more_ now. Are you awake? Can I invite them over, please? Blue!”

“Don’t get his hopes up--”

“I have a very good reason to get his hopes up,” Henry squeezes her cheeks until her lips are thrust forward and kisses her adorable little fish-pout. “I am bringing them over here. We need … I wish we had some champagne, this is a _moment_. Look alive, you two. I am doing some very important work here and you are just staring at me!”

“Henry,” Gansey says again. It’s not _sad_ , this time, but he has tears in his eyes anyway.

“I know,” Henry winks, and gets up to throw the adjoining door all the way open.

 

* * *

 

“Uh. Hi,” Adam says, awkward and halting as he perches on the edge of the other bed, looking across the divide at Gansey and Blue.

Henry sits beside Adam in an attempt to bolster Adam’s courage. Ronan is on Henry’s other side and doesn’t seem quite as affected by nerves; instead he’s toying with Henry’s watch and then running his fingertips over the edges of Henry’s neatly manicured nails. It’s as if Ronan has a mental list of things he’d been wishing he could explore by touch, if he were allowed.

Henry has a list like that, too, but it’s not quite so innocent.

“Hi,” Blue smiles gamely, radiantly, sitting cross-legged and leaning into Gansey’s side.

“I am … glad you’re here, Adam. Ronan,” Gansey says, looking at each of them as he pronounces their names like it’s the first time they’ve ever been said aloud. Like Gansey’s the one who came up with them.

“We should talk,” Adam’s voice is very confident now; he’s over-correcting. “I think we all know why we’re here. In the same room right now. And maybe we need to figure out some ground rules, or -- um.”

Blue’s attention darts to Henry, her eyes glinting with amusement. He knows she’s remembering Gansey saying something very similar to the two of them.

“Is that what you want, Adam?” Gansey’s fingers are twisted up in the bedspread at his hip, his voice spun out like spider silk. “All of this? All of … us?”

Adam swallows visibly and nods, the tips of his ears turning a charming electric pink.

“Is that what you want, too?” Adam’s palms cover the raw, peeling places on his own arms as he huddles there on the edge of the bed. “I mean, Blue, I … I know I said some things … some real awful things, I understand if you don’t … you know.”

“Oh, Adam. I said some things, too,” Blue’s forehead creases in several places, and her mouth turns back down. “It was a long time ago.”

“I know, but I should still … I mean … I should have apologized then. I’m gonna apologize now. I’m sorry. I wish we could start over.”

Henry can hear Blue saying something like _we’ve been through too much, we don’t need to_ , but it’s difficult to focus on her words with Ronan distracting him so thoroughly, leaning over to brush his lips beneath Henry’s earlobe.

“We really need to talk all this shit out right this second?” Ronan grumbles; Henry is certain no one else will be able to make out the words, muffled as they are by the side of Henry’s neck.

Henry turns his head quickly, so Ronan will get the full eye-rolling effect of his expression, but Ronan catches his chin and kisses him again, right there in front of everyone. Henry’s pretty sure he catches a tired sigh from Adam, but he’s enjoying himself too much to summon up any humility.

They continue to make out even though Henry knows they should probably be paying attention. He’s the one who’s wanted to push this particular relationship talk for months now.

“God. Get a room,” Blue speaks up from their background conversation loudly enough for Henry to process the sound of her begrudging laughter.

“Just fucking _had_ one,” Ronan complains against Henry’s lips.

Henry’s laughing now, too, and he’s considering indulging Ronan and rescuing him from the threat of meaningful conversation, hauling him back to the other room so they can be alone for a while, when his phone begins buzzing so rapidly in his pocket that his curiosity gets the best of him. It’s one of RoboBee’s patterns designed to alert him to spikes in social media notifications.

Ronan’s eyes roll with disgust at the phone’s appearance in Henry’s hand, and he sulks in Henry’s periphery, but Henry’s quite caught up in playing a shakily zoomed-in YouTube of the Kiss-Cam incident earlier at the Nationals game. The entire Vancouver crowd has personally congratulated him in the form of one-word texts such as **_BRO!!!!_ ** or strings of lipstick-print emojis. Henry's optimism interprets these as encouragement.

“Dude. We. Are. _Famous_. Look! Just look at how hot we are!” Henry smacks Ronan’s arm and rewinds the video (it’s only eight seconds). He makes Ronan watch it at least three times. Ronan’s complaining in quiet swear words, but Henry can see his gaze lasered in from the side when Henry turns the phone screen to show Adam, then Gansey and Blue.

“You were so brave today, Henry,” Gansey announces solemnly as he hands the phone back; he’s watched the video like it’s some kind of historical documentary. “It’s because of you that we’re talking about this. About what we all really mean to each other.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. Were we talking about that?” Henry sits back down on the bed, this time with a leg thrown across Ronan’s.

“Some of us were,” Adam smirks over at them.

“Well. That sounds like an important talk! Let us continue that one, by all means,” Henry shares the YouTube video to a couple of social media accounts with one hand and pulls at Ronan’s shirt with the other.

“I was just going to say that I’m proud of you, but I feel that I should be able to … to kiss Ronan, too,” Gansey trails off, his burst of determination faltering as his neck flushes. “And Adam. It seems only fair.”

“That’s sweet, Your Gansey-ness, but I’ve got dibs,” Henry pockets his phone again and urges Ronan closer, only to get elbowed and shoved and laughed at. This devolves into a sort of wrestling match, with Ronan flipping Henry quite effortlessly onto his back and pinning his chest to the bed with a forearm. Henry's not accustomed to contact sports.

“Come on, enough talking,” Ronan hauls Henry to his feet and kisses him demandingly; Henry's heart surges and thrives with the attention.

Ronan's not even breathing hard after all that, despite the way Henry himself is panting with exertion. It’s not fair.

“You don’t feel like it might be slightly important to discuss this?” Adam gestures between the five of them and raises an eyebrow up at Ronan. “At all?”

Ronan shrugs and leads Henry away, but he does pause to run a hand over Gansey’s hair and give him a long, meaningful stare.

“Go, Ronan. I know. There’s time,” Gansey squeezes at Ronan’s fingers and then nods toward the door, his eyes alight and burning as he watches them leave.

“You’re not gonna make me _talk about it_ , are you?” Ronan practically growls as he flops onto the bed in the other room.

Henry rolls his eyes in impatient response and then stretches out beside Ronan and lets himself be kissed to within an inch of his life, grounded by the not-too-distant voices of his loves in the next room. Ronan's kiss is thorough and diligent, more consuming than Henry had ever imagined in his own illicit daydreams. It's a full-body possession.

Being so swept up in each other like this -- all five of them, really -- feels a little frightening now that he has it. He knows that summer's winding down, and soon they'll be in different time zones.

But Henry's never been one to let fear keep him from getting what he wants.

After a while, when they’ve slowed down to breathe, Henry rests his head on Ronan’s shoulder and sneaks his phone out again. He takes a selfie of himself nestled against Ronan's chest, just to prove to himself that this is really happening. He watches the jumbotron antics from two additional angles that have since been uploaded to other accounts, and posts nonstop hearts everywhere, until Ronan confiscates the phone and tosses it out of reach so they can make out some more.

Henry peeks over at the adjoining door. It’s still wide open, and he’s going to personally make sure it stays that way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (but extremely belated) birthday, @spikenard! Sorry it took forever to finish! Thanks for reading through my earlier drafts, and for peer pressuring me into writing it in the first place. I mean that in a good way. I needed to tackle something different and this turned out to be a lot of fun. You're brilliant and you make everything better.
> 
> This fic was partially to challenge myself into writing (a) poly feelings, (b) present tense, and (c) a one-shot, none of which are particular strengths of mine, clearly. thanks y'all for bearing with me if you made it through this anyway!!
> 
> Title comes from the song by Crowded House. p.s. Izzy that thing with turning the hat around backwards was for you <3


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